


Revelations

by queenpenthesilea



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adorable Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Avengers Tower, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, BAMF Harley Keener, BAMF Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), BAMF Pepper Potts, Coming of Age, Cute Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Family, Family Dynamics, Genius Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Kid Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe) Needs a Hug, Morgan Stark-centric (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Parent Tony Stark, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Precious Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Precious Peter Parker, Protective Harley Keener, Protective Pepper Potts, Protective Peter Parker, Teen Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), new avengers team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 05:54:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20402758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenpenthesilea/pseuds/queenpenthesilea
Summary: They ask her what it was like to have the great Iron Man as a father. They tell her she's just like him, a genius whose mind can be matched by none other, a brilliant shooting star flaming across the sky - but that's not how she knew him. To her, he was Daddy, and shemisseshim.A coming-of-age story following significant moments in Morgan Stark's life as she grows up in the shadow of Iron Man and discovers who she is along the way.





	Revelations

**Author's Note:**

> yo i'm back on my bullshit.
> 
> I've been wanting to write a Morgan Stark story for a while and this just kind of popped out yesterday. I hope you guys like it!!

She was 3 when she knew her Daddy was special.

“No, General, I will _not_ consult with your engineers on repulsor tech to aid in putting down the riots in the territories – I don’t do weapons anymore, or have you forgotten?” Daddy was snapping into his phone, voice angry in a way that it never was with her. He listened for a moment, then rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m gonna cut you off right there. I don’t give a flying fuck that the president is demanding it, and I’m pretty sure that his puppy dog eyes are a lot less effective than Captain Rogers’s, so you’re pretty much shit outta luck. Good-bye.”

And with that, Daddy hung up the phone, rubbing a hand against his face and leaning back in his chair wearily.

“Wha’s a pres’dent?” Morgan asked, tiny feet padding across the wood floor of Daddy’s study as she toddled over. He spun around in the chair, surprise wiping away the previous irritation from his expression, then smiled brightly at her, slipping hands under her armpits and helping to lift as she tried to clamber into his lap.

“Well,” he said once she was fitted snugly against his chest, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head, “the president is the person who’s in charge of the country we live in. He helps make sure everyone follows the rules and keeps us all from hurting each other.”

Morgan tilted her head up to look curiously at him. “You tol’ him no?”

Daddy shrugged, the amused twinkle in his eyes dimming for a moment. “Sometimes people think that the best way to keep people from hurting each other is to have a lot of things that could hurt people to serve as a deterrent.”

“Det’rant?”

“Something that makes people think twice about doing something,” Daddy clarified, and Morgan nodded solemnly.

“Like Iron Man,” she said, and Daddy winced, causing her to look at him in confusion.

“Yeah, like Iron Man,” he agreed ruefully. “But if you give that kind of power to a whole bunch of people, like an army, eventually you’re gonna have someone who misuses it. Power without sufficient oversight can be destructive – and I’ve learned the hard way that there are some things that just can’t be guaranteed and can result in far too much destruction. Hence, no more weapons-making.”

Morgan wasn’t sure she understood, but Daddy’s voice was solemn and serious, so she nodded. An amused expression crossed his face, and the seriousness was replaced by an adoring smile that made the wrinkles around his eyes crinkle.

“Now that’s enough heavy talk for one night – how does my little squirt feel about juice pops?”

She was 5 when she saw her Daddy for the last time, though she didn’t know it yet.

They were by the front door and Mommy was smiling, but it looked forced. Daddy seemed to have noticed, too, because he looked sad. “You’d better be safe,” Mommy instructed, voice hard in the way that it only ever was when she was trying not to let it wobble.

“Will that be all, Miss Potts?” Daddy agreed, going for a teasing smile only to have it come out wistful. He learned forward and she leaned in, and the kiss they shared was soft, but Morgan had seen them kiss when Daddy left for work before and this one was different. She couldn’t name why it was different then, but she could later. Those were kisses of ‘see you soon’; this, this one was a kiss of ‘goodbye.’

When they pulled apart, their foreheads touched briefly, sharing strength between them. “That’ll be all, Mr. Stark,” she whispered, and then Daddy was turning to Morgan with his arms open. Taking her cue, she beamed and threw herself into them, letting him lift her up into his arms and pepper her face with kisses.

“Now, my Maguna is gonna be good for Mommy while I’m gone, right?” he said, bopping her nose with one finger, and she wrinkled her nose and giggled.

“Shit!”

“Morgan!” Mommy’s shocked reproach sounded out, and Daddy’s eyes went wide, and his shoulders started shaking with laughter.

“Little Miss, I told you, that’s Mommy’s word – she coined it, it belongs to her,” he scolded, the affectionate grin taking any sting out of the reprimand.

“Anthony Stark, I leave you alone with our daughter for five minutes,” Morgan heard Mommy mutter behind them, though her tone was more amused and exasperated than upset. Morgan giggled again, then sobered.

“You have ‘mportant shit t’do?” she asked, remembering what Daddy had said the other night.

Mommy sighed and Daddy snorted but nodded, placing a longer kiss to her forehead. “I do, squirt. Wouldn’t leave you and Mommy here otherwise. I’ll be back as soon as I can, though, sweetheart. I promise.”

And looking at him in all his sincerity, Morgan would never ever doubt that in a million years. Her Daddy would be back.

She was still 5 when she found out that promises could be broken.

“I love you 3000,” Daddy’s projection said.

“He’s gone to a better place,” Mommy said.

“He’ll always be watching over you,” Uncle Rhodey said.

Morgan didn’t believe them.

She was 9 when she realized that not everyone’s fathers were like hers.

She’d known that intellectually, of course – she watched TV, saw how ‘normal’ families supposedly were. Peter and Harley stopped by a lot, and she was pretty sure their families weren’t like hers – but she didn’t really understand exactly how _different_ her dad was until she finally convinced her mom to let her go to public school for the first time.

Mom had been homeschooling her up until then, and they’d found that Dad had recorded some lessons in the garage for her in case she developed an interest – something that had sent Mom hiding tearfully in her room at the time until she got herself under control enough to return. Mom had said she was better off homeschooled for now because of how famous Dad still was, and also because she, Morgan, was pretty far ahead of other children her age. Morgan hadn’t pressed for specifics, but she’d overheard Mom whisper to Uncle Happy at one point about how she was pretty sure Morgan was a certifiable genius ‘like her father.’

Morgan wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

But Mom was busy running SI, and Morgan could tell that doing that _and_ homeschooling here was wearing Mom down, and so she’d asked about public school. Mom had protested, saying they could get her tutors, or Uncle Rhodey could come teach her when he had breaks from the military, but Morgan had near-insisted. She didn’t want more adults in her life, she wanted to interact with people her own age. She wanted to see if those TV shows that showed what normal kids usually did were true. She wanted to make _friends_. Sure, she had Harley and Peter – but they had been Dad’s friends, and they were a lot older than her. Plus, they were both in college now, with Peter about to graduate and Harley in his second year at MIT, so they weren’t able to stop by as often.

And at that request, Mom had been a little speechless, mouth pressing into a thin line and expression projecting something like _regret_.

She started public school the next year, starting in the fourth grade. Mom had said she’d be one of the younger fourth graders, but Morgan wasn’t too worried – especially once she saw the textbooks they’d be using. Morgan had learned everything in them years ago, had already moved on pretty far past them. But that wasn’t really what this was about – this was about socializing, this was about meeting people her own age.

Because Mom had never meant to keep her locked away, as she’d reassured Morgan a hundred times, she just hadn’t wanted Morgan to go through what Dad had gone through – to be in the public eye from birth, to have every facet of her childhood in gossip rags, to never have a private moment. Mom had hoped that, by waiting a bit, they’d wait out the reporters’ fascination with the Potts-Stark family.

It took Morgan all of two minutes after being dropped off to determine that Mom had been wrong.

She’d started up the steps of the school, hands clenching the straps of her backpack and nerves fluttering in her stomach, with minimal reaction from the other kids outside. They were clustered in little groups, mostly segregated by gender, girls huddling together and giggling, boys grouped up and elbowing each other. No one paid much attention to her as she climbed up the steps, which she was fine with. She would make friends in her classes, she hoped.

But then, minutes after Mom had driven away, an adult walked out of the double door entrance to the school dressed in a suit and looking excited but like he was trying to maintain a degree of professionalism. Behind him was a woman in a crisp-looking skirt and suit jacket and a man with a camera. They were striding straight towards her, where she’d just mounted the top stair, and the other kids were turning to look.

“Morgan Stark, it is an honor,” the man who was leading the way declared as he came to a stop in front of her and stuck out his hand. Automatically, she reached out and shook it, and he grinned as the cameraman stood to the side, capturing the moment. Morgan had a sinking feeling, accompanied by an immediate dislike of the man clasping her hand. He was slimy – and not just because his hair was slicked back and greasy-looking with the amount of product on it, but also because he practically oozed self-satisfied attention-grabbing ickiness. “I’m Principal Montgomery, and on behalf of Franklin Elementary School, we’d like to welcome you.”

“Thank you, Principal Montgomery,” Morgan said politely, and the principal smiled his smarmy smile.

“It’s a huge honor to have the daughter of the great Tony Stark at our school, and I know you’ll be happy here in our prestigious learning environment,” he said, and shocked mutters sounded behind her. Morgan didn’t know how to respond to that, but apparently her input was unnecessary as the man’s hand shifted to her shoulder and he steered her towards the front doors. Morgan could feel the stares of the other children at her back, and dread swirled in her stomach. This was not what she’d been hoping for.

The principal lead her through the halls, voice booming proudly about all the great features the school had to offer and how they’d be perfect for Iron Man’s daughter, genius that he was _oh so sure_ she was, of course. The cameraman and the reporter (for what else could she be) followed as they went, and every person in the hall, student and teacher alike, stopped and watched with round eyes that bored into her, pierced her with their curiosity and entitlement to her story. Finally, they came to a stop outside of what Morgan assumed was to be her first class of the day, the principal appearing regretful but stating that it was time for first period and he needed to let Morgan be, much to Morgan’s relief.

“Can we just grab a quick quote?” the reporter asked eagerly, quickly, and she darted in almost before the principal could answer, shark-like gaze honing in on Morgan. The woman smiled, and Morgan was sure it was supposed to be comforting, but it mostly just felt predatory. “Hi, sweetheart, I’m Caroline Hearth with FSTV, and there are a lot of people out there who want to hear what you have to say. So I’m going to ask you a few questions, okay?”

Morgan didn’t answer, which the reporter apparently took as consent, turning to the cameraman and raising a microphone that she seemed to have pulled out of nowhere. “Hello, I’m Caroline Hearth, here today with Morgan Stark, the great Tony Stark’s daughter. Morgan, can you tell us what it’s like to be the daughter of someone as well-known and beloved as Iron Man?”

And _wow_, whatever happened to starting off easy?

But Morgan had seen countless videos of her dad handling the press, had consumed them in her free time out of pure curiosity about the man who she missed like a missing limb – and to her, those were as good as lessons from her dad himself on how to handle pushy reporters.

“I don’t think of him as ‘the great Tony Stark’ or ‘Iron Man,’” Morgan said when the reporter pushed the microphone into her face, looking into the camera with as much wide-eyed innocence as she could project. “I just knew him as Dad.”

The reporter made a soft, sympathetic noise that Morgan was entirely certain was fake, pulling the microphone back to herself. “Of course, sweetheart,” she cooed, sickly sweet, and Morgan gave her own saccharine smile. “Do you want to follow in your dad’s footsteps?”

Morgan tried not to roll her eyes at the idiotic question. “Well, I’m only 9, so I’m not exactly sure what the future holds for me,” she said, her voice perfectly innocent even as the reporter flushes slightly at the concealed barb, “but I hope I can be the kind of person my dad would be proud of. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m starting fourth grade today, and I don’t think my dad would be too happy with me for being late.”

Silently, she dared them to call her out on the fact that her dad had been well-known for being late to important events, wondering if they’d dare say anything that could be even slightly perceived as negative about the man who’d saved the universe. They didn’t.

“Of course,” Principal Montgomery interceded, calling attention back to himself as he flashed the camera a wide smile. “We’d better get you to class – can’t impede the education of someone who might be our future Iron Man!”

Morgan had to hide a wince at that, keeping her expression as neutral and blank as she’d always seen Dad do when someone said or asked something particularly asinine at a press conference and letting him push her gently towards her classroom.

She wanted to be relieved that that part of her day was over, but the pit in her stomach told her that the tribulations of the day might only be beginning, if the stares of her new classmates were anything to go by when she walked into the room. Even the teacher stared at her for a moment before she recovered.

“Miss Stark,” the teacher said with a slightly shocked, off-balance smile. “Please, take a seat.” Morgan nodded, the press smile dropping from her face as she headed to the last open seat, one in the very front of the room. She opened her backpack, pulled out a notebook, and tried to pay attention as the teacher rambled about classroom rules and textbooks and homework.

“Psssst,” the person behind her hissed, and she was poked in the back with something sharp – a pencil? Morgan didn’t turn around, staying carefully still, not wanting to draw attention to herself any more than she already had. “Psssssssssst.” The poke was harder this time, and Morgan tilted her head a little to show that she was listening without actually turning around. “Are you really Iron Man’s daughter?” the voice hissed, and Morgan sighed. A few of the people seated nearby had overheard and turned to stare, eagerly awaiting her answer, and she was worried the teacher would notice. So she nodded once, quickly, and there were beams all around her.

“That’s so cool,” one of the other students sitting close to her whispered, eyes alight.

“Have you ever tried on the Iron Man suit?” another student whispered excitedly, and Morgan was a little touched by their enthusiasm, shaking her head no – although she supposed she _had_ tried on Mom’s Rescue helmet before, so that wasn’t _entirely_ true. There was a collective quiet aww of disappoint, and that was enough to draw the teacher’s attention.

“Is there something you would like to share with the class?” the teacher asked, one eyebrow raised, and she wasn’t looking at Morgan but rather the kids around her, who shrank in their seats.

All but one, at least. “Miss Mahoney, she’s related to Iron Man! Isn’t it so awesome?” the boy behind her burst out, and the teacher frowned at him.

“Mr. Baker, I need you to contain yourself and pay attention,” she scolded, but now the rest of the class was looking interested, staring at Morgan as Miss Mahoney launched back into her diatribe instead of paying attention. And Morgan, for all that their attention was not malicious, was feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

And that, of course, was when the intercom came on overhead. “Morgan Stark, please report to the principal’s office. Morgan Stark, please report to the principal’s office.”

“Ooooooh,” the class collectively said, and Morgan packed up her bag silently, sliding out of the classroom and heading to the office she’d been shown on her tour.

“ – beyond finished, I hope you know that Mr. Montgomery. What kind of _monster_ accosts a _9 year old girl_ with reporters, with no warning and without asking for anyone’s permission, especially not hers? And – and this is my favorite part – you _waited until after I drove away_ to bring out your dogs – don’t you dare think I don’t know that was deliberate. You will be hearing from my lawyers, and I hope your fifteen minutes of fame were worth it, because, when I’m done with you, you won’t be able to find work in _any_ respectable establishment.”

Mom’s livid voice was echoing down the hall and, despite that she knew she should probably feel embarrassed, all she could feel was an incredible sense of relief as she flung open the office door, ignoring the receptionists and walking back to where her mom was standing, red-faced and furious in the doorway of the principal’s office. Morgan was almost surprised – she’d never seen Mom lose her temper like this, always coolly acerbic in the boardroom, unflappable and quietly deadly. The principal looked terrified, cowering behind his desk as Morgan slid up next to her mom, slipping her hand into her mom’s.

Mom looked down at her, surprised before she saw who was touching her, and then relief flooded her face and she bent down and encased Morgan in a hug. “Are you alright, honey?” Mom asked, voice worried, and Morgan smiled at her.

“I’m fine, Mom,” she assured her, and Mom looked like she didn’t believe her, so Morgan shrugged lightly. “Starks are made of iron, remember?” she said cheekily, and her mom let out a wet laugh, ruffling her hair.

“Too much like your father,” she said fondly before straightening and turning another glare on Principal Montgomery. “I hope you’re happy with the bed you’ve made, but I wouldn’t get too comfortable if I were you,” she spat, tone menacing, and then she walked out, Morgan’s hand in hers as they stalked down the halls.

A few people poked their heads out as they passed, staring at the sight of CEO Pepper Potts in their halls, but Mom didn’t even pause.

“How did you know to come get me?” Morgan asked, and Mom looked down at her, eyes soft and worried.

“FRIDAY let me know you were on TV,” she said, voice pinched. “I came as soon as she told me.”

Morgan was quiet for a moment. “Thanks, Mom,” she said finally, and Mom smiled at her, only slightly shaky.

“Morgan, there are going to be reporters outside of here now,” Mom said quietly, eyes remaining on the light streaming in the rectangular windows on the double doors ahead as they approached purposefully. “Just remain calm, don’t respond to any of their questions, and don’t stop walking towards the car.”

Heartbeat picking up and grip tightening on her mom’s hand, Morgan nodded, pasting the neutral expression back on her face when she saw her mom do the same. Together, the approaches the double doors and pushed them open.

For a split second, Morgan couldn’t be sure whether the bright light was the sun or cameras, but she got her answer quickly when a cacophony of voices started calling her name. 

“Morgan! Morgan, what have you been doing for the past four years?”

“Morgan, are you going to go to MIT like Tony Stark?”

“Morgan, is your mother grooming you to be the next CEO of SI?”

“Morgan!”

She didn’t slow, following her mom’s lead and walking towards the car, where Uncle Happy was standing grim-faced with the door open and waiting for them. They reached the car, the reporters at their heels, and Morgan was preparing to slide in when a reporter called out, “Morgan, do you miss Iron Man?”

And Morgan couldn’t help but turn and look at the man who’d shouted the question. “No,” she said, and the voices quieted around her immediately, practically holding their breaths to hear what the Stark child would say. “I don’t miss Iron Man. I miss my dad.”

And with that, she turned and slid into the car, Mom sliding in behind her as Happy shut the door. 

That night, she went into the garage for the first time since Dad had died and stared at the suits that had both saved his life and taken him away from her. Then she pulled up his learning programs. 

She was 15 when she figured out that the world mourned and celebrated Iron Man, but only a select few mourned Tony Stark. 

Mom had moved back into Stark Tower now that Morgan was at MIT in her third year of college so that Mom could be closer to her work. Harley and Peter had come over to her dorm on the anniversary of her dad’s death, and the president had asked her and Mom to appear at a ceremony later for the newly-christened Iron Man Day in honor of the ten years since his sacrifice. On the screen, newscasters were playing videos of her dad’s greatest successes, raving about the kind, selfless man he’d been. Morgan could recall the many, many times they’d said the exact opposite about him in other videos she’d watched. 

“What was he really like?” Morgan asked suddenly, and Harley and Peter both looked at her, surprised, from where they were sitting by her on the couch. They were both grown now, Peter age 26 and steadily rising in the Avengers’ ranks, Harley age 25 and having newly joined with a suit of his own that Dad had left him. 

“That’s probably a question for your mom, Morg,” Peter said cautiously, patting one of her legs. She was sitting sideways, back resting against the arm of the couch and legs sprawled across Peter’s lap and a tiny bit on Harley’s. 

“Besides, don’t you remember him, kid?” Harley asked, looking a little concerned.

“I remember a little. And Mom tells me some things, and FRIDAY and the internet tell me some things, but I want to hear what you two thought of him,” Morgan said, then added softly, “You were the ones he felt like were also his kids, after all.”

And how could they say no, after that? 

“He was always patient, when he was teaching you something,” Peter answered finally, eyes staring off in remembrance and a fond smile crossing his lips. “He’d snark and insult and tease if you messed up, but he’d help you until you got it without making you feel stupid for taking longer than him to understand something. And he only ever really got mad if you did something that coulda gotten you killed.”

“He’d never tell you outright that he cared,” Harley added. “Any time he felt like he’d shown too much emotion, he’d immediately cover it up with an insult of some kind.”

And Morgan nodded, a conversation drifting through her memory - _Wow. 3000. That’s a lot. _A tender look, slightly awed and honored before he ducked his head to hide his face._ Go to bed or I’ll sell all your toys. _

“You remind me a lot of him, actually,” Peter said with a grin, nudging her in the side. “Too smart for your own good, constantly up all night working on some new invention of yours, consuming more coffee than should be humanly possible.”

And it wasn’t the first time she’d heard it, nor did she think it would be the last. The world had lauded the genius of Morgan Stark, following in her father’s brilliant footsteps. She’d already invented new solutions for clean energy that Mom had been able to integrate into SI’s current stock with a look that was two parts pride, one part sad remembrance, and Morgan knew her mom was looking at her but seeing a ghost.

And that was without anyone knowing what she was building in her private lab at MIT, gifted to her by the president of the college when she’d started – a gift she’d tried to refuse as being too much but was now glad that he’d insisted. She hadn’t told anyone for fear that they’d stop her, loving hypocrites that they were – for her own good, they would say, like they hadn’t been out fighting crime at 15, or donned the Ironheart suit at 21, or flown in to battle Thanos alongside her father.

And truthfully, she wasn’t sure she’d ever use it, wasn’t sure it would ever feel _right_ or that she deserved to take up her father’s mantle – but the knowledge that she _could_, that she had created something that might be worthy of being called his daughter, well, that kept her close to him, no matter how far beyond her reach he may be.

She was 18 when she felt the pain that her mother must have felt watching her father fly into battles.

Peter was the leader of the Avengers, with Sam Wilson, the new Captain America, as his second-in-command. Harley was also on the primary team in his Ironheart suit, along with the Winter Soldier and Kamala Khan, a newer super who called herself Ms. Marvel. It was a smaller team than it sometimes was, but many of the others had requested to be reserves members, reaching ages or having enough responsibilities where flying into battle every other day wasn’t always feasible. 

But sometimes, such a small team ended up too spread out. That was the case today, with Captain America, Winter Soldier, and Ms. Marvel on one side of the world, and Spider-Man and Ironheart on the other, both groups battling their own foes.

And Morgan was in R&D at SI, watching them on the tiny TV screen in the labs.

Watching Peter get thrown into a building.

Watching the gauntlet get torn off of Harley’s suit and almost taking his hand with it.

Watching the heroes get nearly decimated while people around her murmured worriedly but without the same heart-wrenching terror that their family might be torn apart for the sake of the people (_again_).

Hating those nebulous ‘people’ for a moment, for being the ones Peter and Harley were risking their lives time and time again for, for being the ones her father had _died_ for.

Peter and Harley won, in the end, bruised and bloodied and worse for wear.

And with resentment towards those now-safe ‘people’ in her heart, though she knew it to be irrational and poorly directed, Morgan silently wondered if she simply wasn’t the hero type.

She was 24 when she found out it didn’t matter whether she was hero material or not.

“FRIDAY, turn up the ionization by a factor of 24 - a little – yeah, like that, perfect,” she muttered, bent over her latest project in the lab of Stark Tower, the one her mother had given her when she’d turned 21, at which time her mother had also tried to give the company over to her as part of her inheritance from her father. Morgan had refused adamantly, insisting that there was no one better to run SI than Pepper Potts, and she’d rather continue her work with R&D anyway, so please, please don’t try to give me this, Mom, I’m not ready to try to do what he did. To do what you do.

I’m not enough, she thought but never said.

But the Universe didn’t care if she felt like she was enough today, it seemed – she was going to have to be.

“Little Boss, Spider-Man’s vitals are worryingly low.” FRIDAY’s voice was worried, and that pulled Morgan right out of her inventing binge, dropping her tools and straightening.

“Show me,” she demanded, and FRIDAY pulled up video of Peter on 6th avenue getting his ass handed to him by a man on a glider in a green suit. The man hit him once, twice, three times while Peter was trying to usher away civilians before taking advantage of his dazed state and throwing something explosive at him. Peter flew through the air, rolled across the street, and didn’t get up.

Without a word, Morgan drew the innocuous silver ring from her finger, touched it to the middle of her chest, and twisted it. Silver and red nanites flowed from the ring and the characteristic glow hummed to life from its center, expanding and forming the circle her dad had initially favored. The nanites flowed over her skin until the suit was assembled, helmet forming itself around her face and the HUD screen flickering to life. 

“FRIDAY, are you with me?” Morgan asked tersely.

“Yes, Little Boss.”

And with that, Morgan shot off.

She’d been practicing – of course she’d been practicing, no one could do this without some sort of experience – but it had been discreet, with FRIDAY sworn to secrecy – because she still hadn’t been sure if she’d ever put on the armor that killed her dad and endangered Harley’s life. 

But Peter was in danger, and there was no time for any second thoughts.

She flew towards 6th avenue with a boom, making it in less than a minute and immediately spotting Peter as the green guy dismounted his hang glider and was walking towards her pseudo-brother with a cackle.

“The itsy bitsy spidey went up the water spout,” the green guy crooned, a crazed tone to his voice.

Morgan landed in a three-point-stance between the green guy and Peter. “Down came his sister and knocked the snake out,” Morgan sing-songed back, voice hard. The green guy stepped back, startled, but recovered quickly, cackling again.

“Oh, little one, I’m a goblin, actually – didn’t you hear?” he asked, taking another few creepy steps towards her.

Morgan was unmoved. “I didn’t, actually – never heard of you before.” The green guy – goblin, whatever – looked like he was going to interject, but Morgan tutted, waving a finger. “No, no. Now, Mr. Snake, Goblin, whatever term you’d like to use, I think you’re done here. As you can see, backup has arrived, and more is on the way,” she bluffed. The goblin guy cocked his head at her, stalking around her almost in a circle, though she continually shifted to ensure she was between him and Peter, who hadn’t moved behind her.

“I think you’re lying to me, little girl,” the goblin guy said, tone amused and slimy. “I think you came here all by your little lonesome self. And since Spidey there is out of commission, it’s just me and you – and I like my chances.”

And with that, he sprung towards her, but Morgan had already anticipated him, gauntlets ready and immediately blasting him backwards. He jumped up quickly, but Morgan had been shooting towards him, and the blade he aimed for her midsection bounced off the armor without leaving so much as a scratch. She grabbed his wrist, twisting it until he dropped the knife and kicking him in the stomach hard enough that he skidded away from her.

She stayed where she was as he coughed and pushed himself to his hands and knees, looking up at her with his weird mask. “Like I said,” she said, voice flat. “I think you’re done here.”

Without a word, the goblin guy called his hang glider and sailed away, and Morgan watched him go for a heartbeat, waiting until he was out of sight and hadn’t tried to harm anyone else before spinning around, retracting the helmet and letting her mess of dark waves fall around her sweaty face as she ran to Peter’s side, where he lay still.

“Pete? Petey? Peter, please say something,” Morgan begged, shaking him and lightly slapping his face. In her periphery, Morgan could see people stepping forward, taking photos and muttering, but she paid them no mind. “FRIDAY, scan for life functions,” Morgan commanded, voice desperate.

“Vitals are stable. Mr. Parker will resume consciousness shortly,” FRIDAY reassured her after a moment, and Peter groaned, starting to roll to his side and eyes fluttering. Morgan let out a small sob, unable to help the noise as Peter pushed himself to a seated position and blinked blearily. She yanked him into a fierce hug, ignoring his grunt of pain, needing to just _feel_ him in her arms.

“You dumbass,” Morgan sobbed, squeezing him tighter as Peter’s arms came up to return the hug.

“…Morgan?” Peter asked confusedly into her neck, and Morgan drew back to look into his astonished eyes.

“Why didn’t you call for backup?” she demanded, and Peter blinked at her, blood trickling from a wound in his head.

“Uhhhh,” he said intelligently, then seemed to regain some of his mental function, looking her over incredulously. “Wait, what are you doing here? Is that – is that a _suit_? Since when do you have a suit, Morgan? I didn’t see anything in Tony’s will about leaving you a suit, and Pepper never said anything!”

Morgan shook her head. “It’s not one of Dad’s. I made this.”

Peter gaped at her, and Morgan couldn’t help but feel a bit smug alongside the _massive_ wave of relief flooding her. Peter was going to be okay. Her family was going to be alright. She wasn’t losing anyone today.

“You _made_ that?”

“That’s what I said.”

“When?”

“Junior year at MIT.”

“Morgan, you were fifteen.”

“I’m aware.”

They stared each other down for a moment, Morgan feeling more and more relieved, but Peter looking more and more – was that _angry_?

“Morgan, have you had _any_ training with that suit?” Peter demanded, and Morgan stared at him, confused and a little wary at his expression.

“I’ve been practicing!” she said defensively.

“That’s not the same thing as training, and you know it,” Peter said, and his brow was furrowed, and oh, god he actually looked _pissed_. “Do you know how much danger you just put yourself and everyone around you in, flying out here and trying to be a hero with a suit you’re not trained to use?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have had to fly out here if FRIDAY hadn’t told me you were about to _die_,” Morgan yelled back. “It’s not like I was _intending_ to, like I woke up this morning and was like ‘hmm, how can I make Peter mad at me today – I know! I’ll get out the Iron Maiden suit I’ve been making and save his life!’ No, I had to hear from FRIDAY that you’d gotten into a battle that you were about to _lose_, and I was about to lose _another_ family member to this fucking job. So I’m _so sorry_ that I didn’t take the time to train with the suit before flying out to save your ass.”

Peter drew back like she’d slapped him. “Family member?” he asked quietly, and she glared at him.

“Yes, you idiot, I consider you my fucking family. And I already lost Dad to the whole Avenger gig, and I’m not going to lose you, too. So if that means I have to become an Avenger to save your dumb ass every time you get into trouble, then fine.”

It’s not fine, it really isn’t, but it’s better than losing her family.

She’s 25 when she first started to count people she didn’t really know as family.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, I promise no one is going to hurt you. You can come out,” she said as soothingly as possible to the young girl huddled underneath her bed. It had been Morgan’s turn on call for the night, and she’d gotten the call about a domestic disturbance. Normally, something like that was outside of the Avengers’ scope, but one of the parents was a mutant who was known for being particularly violent towards uniformed personnel. 

And so Morgan had been called in, had taken the mutant down with ease and ushered his sobbing, half-beaten to death wife to the nearest police officer, and entered their home to find his daughter.

“You’re lying. Daddy never keeps his promises not to hurt us, so why would you keep yours?” the little girl whispered, and Morgan felt her heart ache in remembrance of the feeling of promises being nothing more than quicksand slipping through open fingers.

“I will keep mine, sweetheart, but I know that doesn’t mean much to you right now,” Morgan said softly, retracting the armor. “So if you won’t come out, can I come in?”

There was a sniffle, a shuffling sound, and then a quiet, reluctant, “Okay.”

Morgan slid under the bed swiftly, lying on her side so she could see, and a little girl who couldn’t be more than six peered at her with big, brown, red-rimmed eyes, a wobbling lip, and a green-yellow bruise across the left side of her face. Tear tracks were running down her cheeks, and Morgan offered her the most comforting smile she could. 

“Hi, honey. I’m Morgan, what’s your name?”

“Sophie,” the girl said with a sniffle. Morgan smiled encouragingly.

“Hi, Sophie. Would it be alright if I came closer and hugged you?” Morgan asked, and Sophie thought for a moment, then nodded. Morgan scooted closer as well as she could under the bed, then pulled the trembling little girl into her arms. The girl was shaking, and Morgan started stroking her hair comfortingly and, with a quiet gasp, the girl burst into tears.

Morgan wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, Sophie crying and her stroking the little girl’s hair, but eventually she noticed that she’d started humming – some tune she didn’t really recognize, something soothing that she thought might be from her childhood. Footsteps sounded, undoubtedly coming to check on them, and Sophie froze, her sobs quieting and eyes wide and terrified. Morgan didn’t stop stroking Sophie’s hair, keeping calm eye contact with the young girl as she spoke to whoever had entered the room. “We’re fine, we just need a second to catch our breaths,” she said.

“Acknowledged, Iron Maiden,” the officer said crisply, and the footsteps faded away.

Sophie buried her head in Morgan’s chest, and wrapped her arms around the woman’s waist. Morgan resumed her humming, content to wait until the little girl was ready. “You’re safe, little star,” she found herself murmuring as Sophie’s tears soaked her shirt. “He can’t hurt you now.”

They stayed there for a long while.

Morgan tried not to think about why she continually checked up on Sophie Larson over the next few years.

She was 26 when she first felt what it was like to have blood on her hands, _red in her ledger_, whatever the world wanted to call it.

“It’s not your fault, Morgan,” Peter assured her.

“You did your best, and that’s all you can do,” Harley told her.

“You aren’t why they died,” Uncle Rhodey said firmly to her.

“Maybe not,” she responded. “But I’m the reason they didn’t live.”

It was true and she knew it – knew it in the pitying looks the team gave her, knew it in the return of her mother’s weekly calls, no matter how much her mom tried to insist it was for _her_ benefit, not Morgan’s. Knew it from the haunted stare her reflection gave her, the circles under the eyes, skin too pale, white-knuckled grip on the bathroom counter-top.

She wished that haunted stare was the only set of accusatory eyes she saw.

But every time she closed her eyes, the Others were there.

The ones she should’ve saved.

The ones she _could’ve_ saved if she’d just been faster, better, trained more, worked harder, been _more_.

_If she had just been Iron Man_.

But she was Iron Maiden, and those people had died because she wasn’t enough.

She was 27 when she discovered she didn’t know what ‘enough’ _meant_.

“You’ve been nominated as Time’s Person of the Year,” they told her.

“You’ve revolutionized the clean energy industry and saved countless lives as Iron Maiden,” Uncle Happy explained.

“You’re a badass who inspires women everywhere,” Peter grinned.

“You’re a big-headed smartass who’s going to hold this over all of us forever,” Harley predicted with a good-natured eye-roll.

“You showed them what it means to be a compassionate genius superhero – just like your father,” her mom said softly, touching her face gently, and Morgan found that was the explanation she believed the least.

She didn’t know how to tell them that she wasn’t the hero they believed her to be.

She was 28 when she died.

Temporarily, thankfully, though that was cold comfort to her family when she was gone for two entire minutes, heart stopped and unresponsive.

But for Morgan, those two minutes were something she would treasure later, though they were confusing in the moment.

_”Maguna. You’re here.”_

_Morgan froze, staring at the unfamiliar unearthly landscape and trying to decide if she wanted to acknowledge the all-too-familiar voice behind her. In the end, she couldn’t _not_, so she turned – and there he was, exactly as he looked in her memories, salt-and-pepper hair and beard, dressed in his grease-stained shirt and jeans like he’d just come from the lab, hands folded behind his back. _

_“Been a while,” she tried to say casually, but her voice cracked, and her father lurched forward like he wanted to go to her, but caught himself._

_“So it has,” he said cautiously, and his eyes were guarded, careful. “I imagine you have questions.”_

_“Sure,” Morgan said flippantly, folding her arms. “Like where the hell we are. Or what I’m doing here. Or are you even really my father or just some weird pre- or- post- death hallucination.”_

_Her father eyed her with something that was almost amusement. “Probably about how I myself would’ve put it,” he conceded with a small grin. “So in order – we’re in the in-between, somewhere between life and death. You’re here because your body died for the moment, but the medical team is working to bring you back. And yeah – yeah, I’m really your father. I’m sorry about that.”_

_“Why?” burst out of her before she could modulate it, and her father tilted his head at her._

_“Why what?” And if it was possible, his expression was even more guarded than before._

_“Why are you sorry about that?” she clarified, and some of the tension went out of his shoulders before his expression tightened._

_“So many reasons,” he said heavily, tone bleak and shoulders seeming to sag. “Because I wasn’t there for you growing up. Because I saddled you with my last name and all the publicity that it meant. Because you never got the normal life you deserved – or even the choice between a normal life and an extraordinary one. And, most of all, because you felt like you had to live up to me when you’re so, so much more than I could’ve ever been. God, Maguna, if you could only see how much good you’ve done…I know you feel like you live in my shadow, and I know what it feels like to believe that you live in a parent’s shadow, and I’m so, so sorry that you’ve had to feel that way, my Morgan, my squirt, my Little Miss who is so much bigger than I could ever be._

_“You’re precious and perfect, and you’re an undeniable force of good in the Universe, and I wish I could’ve been there every single fucking day of your life to tell you that.”_

_Morgan was silent, shocked, eyes tearing up against her will before she finally found her voice, small and broken. “Why weren’t you?”_

_And her father gazed at her with a tortured expression. “Because I couldn’t be. Thanos was going to kill everyone if he snapped his fingers that second time, and Strange said we had one chance. So I took it for you. I took it so you could have a future – you and your mom and Peter and Harley. And everyone else, too, sure. But I was thinking of you. Like I told all of the Avengers who participated in the time heist – my greatest priority was to protect what we had found during the five years between Thanos snapping his fingers and us attempting to bring everyone back – and that meant you and your mom. You have been my greatest priority since I was lucky enough to have you and your mom. You deserved to live, Morgan. And it has been my greatest pleasure to watch you grow up. I wish more than anything that I could’ve been there for you, and I know you haven’t been able to hear me, but I’ve told you how much I love you every single day of your existence, Morgan Stark. I am so, so proud of you.”_

_Morgan’s eyes were wide as saucers. “You – you are?”_

_Her father never faltered, eyes boring into hers. “I am, more than you could ever know. My father told me I was his greatest creation – but Morgan, you’re so much more than I could ever have created. You’re the greatest thing I could ever have imagined existing. I love you to the ends of the Universe.”_

_And a tear dripped down Morgan’s cheek. “I – I love you, too, Dad.”_

_And then finally, desperately, they were throwing themselves into each other’s arms, clinging to one another like the other was all that mattered in the world._

_And in this world, perhaps that was true._

_But Morgan was not of this world. And, with a much more violent wrench than the one with which she was dropped off, she was pulled from this reality, tugged away with a devastated cry from her throat and a tearful but knowing gaze from her father. _

_And then she drifted for a while. The wrench had pulled her up, but only such that she was floating along some kind of half-conscious canal for a long while, drifting along for days at a time, the fluids she soaked up steadily lending her strength until she was able to finally, finally –_

Morgan sucked in a deep breath, air filling her lungs like a privilege that hadn’t been granted in a while.

“Morgan? Oh my god, Morgan, are you awake? Are you okay?” Harley’s voice was frantic in a way she didn’t think she’d heard before, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to answer, eyes still closed and tired with a bone-deep exhaustion.

“Of course she’s not okay.” And yeah, Morgan’s eyes nearly flew open at the sound of Peter snarling – she’d never heard him sound like that before, beyond furious, beyond reason. “She was trying to save _everyone’s_ asses, and the stupid fucking idiot got herself blasted to kingdom come in the process.”

Morgan coughed out her shock, trying to force herself into a seated position, but getting dizzy immediately and falling back against crisp bedsheets that smelled faintly but distinctly of hospital. “Th – “ she started, then coughed violently, lungs hacking more than they should probably contain as Peter and Harley patted her back worriedly, the steady beep of the heart monitor reassuring everyone that she was okay. “They’re okay?” she finally choked out, referring to the civilians, and there was a moment of shocked silence before Harley snorted and she heard the sound of Peter face-palming.

“Everyone is fine, you idiot. You kept _everyone else_ safe,” Peter emphasized, and Morgan cracked her eyes open to see his tearfully firm expression. “Now, if you could just keep your_self_ safe along with everyone else, we’ll be good.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Parker,” Morgan coughed with a weak smile, and Harley and Peter’s expressions softened. 

“Your mom’s here, too – I think she went to get food. We’ll go get her,” Harley offered, and then they both darted out of the room.

There was a moment of peace and silence, and then her mom strolled into the room, looking almost unruffled except for the red-rimmed eyes.

“Your eyes are red,” Morgan commented. “A few tears for your idiot daughter?”

“You,” her mother said menacingly, and the red-rimmed eyes had narrowed and were far more menacing than Morgan recalled seeing before, “will _never_ do that to me again.”

Morgan held her hand sup in surrender. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry – what will I not do to you again?” she asked, to clarify, and her mom stared at her with an expression that was so upset that Morgan just wanted to pull her into her arms.

“You won’t _die_, Morgan,” her mom clarified, and Morgan felt like her heart squeezed.

“I can’t promise that, Mom,” she said quietly, and they both fell silent, listening to the steady beep of the heart monitor.

“Why?” her mom asked, and Morgan looked up to meet her mother’s eyes with iron in her own.

“You know why,” she said, and her mom refused to look away, years of practice with Morgan’s dad keeping her in place. She held Morgan’s gaze, steady but demanding firm explanation. But now, Morgan was ready to give it to her, gaze firm and unyielding. “I’m here for a reason,” Morgan said, voice full of conviction. “I wouldn’t be alive, wouldn’t be the child of you and Dad, if it weren’t for a reason. It’s my duty to protect everyone – just like _he_ would’ve done, just like my brothers do, just like you did when Thanos threatened us all. It’s in my blood, Mom. It’s who I am. I can’t change it – and, what’s more, I don’t _want_ to anymore.

“I know you and Dad are proud of me and I don’t have anything to prove – but that’s not what this is about, not anymore,” she said, eyes wide with sincerity. “This isn’t about me. This is about protecting people _because it’s right_. And I want to do that, Mom. Not because of you, or Dad, or Harley and Peter – but because of me. Because I'm Iron Maiden, and I _can_, and so I _should_."

Falling silent, almost embarrassed by her speech, Morgan looked at her mom beseechingly, willing her to understand. Her mom stared at her for a moment measuringly, then nodded once, seemingly to herself, before coming forward and drawing Morgan into a careful hug. Her voice, when she spoke, was soft, almost mournful, but understanding. "I know, sweetheart. You're too much like your father. I knew this would happen someday, and I'm so, so proud of you."

She drew back without letting go of Morgan's shoulders to look her directly in the eyes. "But I _swear_ if I have to haul you back from throwing yourself into _needless_ danger time and time again, I'm going to dig up your father's grave and give him a piece of my mind about passing on his reckless gene to our daughter!"

Morgan laughed, the movement jarring some of her injuries, but she smiled through it anyway. "It's a deal," she agreed.


End file.
